


Paths of Life

by sunshineisdelicious



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family, Fluff, Light Angst, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21608314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineisdelicious/pseuds/sunshineisdelicious
Summary: The Mandalorian makes his choice (and that choice means a couple more people join him and the child on the Razor Crest).This story will cover all of season 1 after episode 4 and was written before season 2 was released.
Relationships: Omera & Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), Omera & Winta (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian & Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian & Winta (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian/Omera (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 124
Kudos: 556





	1. Chapter 1

Omera and the Mandalorian walked to the edge of the krill ponds.

He turned to face her, and he almost seemed...nervous. Almost. He was a serious man, she knew, but he was by no means without emotion. Omera willed her soul to be still as he began to speak. This was the deciding moment.

“It’s...very nice here,” he began. She held back a laugh. This man was terrible at small talk, and even worse at speaking gently.

“Yes,” she said instead, smiling. And it was. It was a quiet life, and sometimes a difficult one, but it was very nice.

“I think it’s clear he...he’s happy here,” he said, looking briefly over her shoulder at the young one, playing with the other children.

Yes, the little one was happy here. She felt he could be happy anywhere. He had a big heart for one so small, and an endless curiosity about the world around him. Winta loved him. She would talk endlessly about him whenever she wasn’t watching him, about whatever mischief they found or what the little one had stuck in his mouth that day (most recently was a frog).

But while her daughter lost her heart to the child, Omera knew she was losing her heart to the man.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you happy here?” He said nothing, which spoke more of his wishes than anything. He was wavering, perhaps. Maybe all he needed was encouragement, to know that he was wanted. “We want you to stay.” _I want you to stay._ “The community’s grateful.” _I am grateful._ “You can pack all this away in case there’s ever trouble,” she added, gesturing to his armor. There would always be trouble, of course, but instead of it _being_ his life, it would only ever be a guest. He remained silent and she could feel his eyes on her face, intense, like he always was. She wanted to give him the chance to relax, to feel safe, to have hope for a future full of love and light. “You and your boy could have a good life. He could be a child for a while. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Life on the run...it would be difficult for one man to look after such a young child, and even more difficult to find chances to let that child be free to explore without fear, to learn and grow. To have a family.

“It would,” he said at length, and his voice sounded thick with emotion. A little wistful. Sad.

She would not let him go without giving him every reason to stay. This man, this warrior, this lonely hunter had wandered into her life by chance, but if he stayed, it would be deliberate. She would welcome him with open arms.

She took a deep breath and reached up to his helmet. Slowly, carefully. If he let her take it off, it would change everything. If not, she would understand. It would hurt, but every being deserved to choose their path in life. She hoped with all her heart that he chose to walk the paths of life with her.

He brought up his hands…

...but he did not stop her. The gloved hands hovered near her wrists but did not touch them.

She could feel the smile on her face. _He will stay._

And then the sound of a blaster broke the peaceful, life-changing moment. The Mandalorian whipped around, grabbing his blaster and keeping her behind him as he scanned the treeline.

“Go get the kids,” he said, and she turned and ran. Although no words had yet been said about the new understanding they had, she knew they were thinking the same thing: _keep our family safe._

—

The Mandalorian was packing the cart with his supplies.

It wasn’t safe here. There were bounty hunters after his young charge, and if they stayed, the village would suffer for it.

Omera knelt down in front of Winta, who was valiantly trying not to cry. “I have a very important question for you,” she started, making sure her daughter’s focus was on her face and not the tiny green child sitting on the edge of the cart. Winta nodded and met her eyes. “They have to go. It’s not safe. But we could go with them.”

Winta’s eyes widened. “Yes!” she cried, but Omera had to shake her head.

“I want you to think about this, Winta. We’d be leaving the village behind. All your friends, our house, everything. It would just be the four of us, and you’d have to listen to everything we say to keep you and the little one safe.”

Winta pursed her lips and looked at the ground for a while. When she looked up, she asked, “But we’ll be a family, right?”

Omera smiled. “Yes.”

“I’ll get a dad and a baby brother?”

“Yes.”

Winta looked over at the man loading the cart. He had stopped and was looking in their direction, one of his hands resting on the little one’s back to keep him steady. She looked back at Omera and smiled. “Yes. Yes, I want to go.”

Omera gave her a hug. “Then we’d better pack. We have to leave soon.”

There were only a few things to pack that would be of use on a ship, in their new life, and while the goodbyes to the village were tearful, they were quick. Everyone understood the need for haste.

The cart was soon on its way, and Winta and the baby sat at the edge of the cart to wave goodbye. Omera and the Mandalorian sat a bit further back. As they lost sight of the village and Winta started to chatter at the baby, Omera reached out to squeeze one of the bounty hunter’s hands. He squeezed back and looked over at her. Yes, this would be a difficult path to walk. But they would walk it together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian returns to his ship with two extra people in tow.

The kids were both fast asleep as they reached the Mandalorian’s ship. The jolt of cart stopping didn’t wake them, which Omera was grateful for; trying to get things sorted with kids underfoot, especially tired kids, was always difficult.

The Mandalorian had already exited the cart by the time she looked over to him. She prepared to hop out as well, only to be surprised when a gloved hand was held out to her. The helmet of the man offering that hand hid any facial expressions, and his posture was as unrelaxed as ever, but she had a fanciful moment of feeling like some grand lady being handed out of her hover-carriage by a valiant knight as she gently placed her hand in his and stepped down.

For a moment, they stood there, hands still holding tight to each other, with nothing but the sounds of the forest at night around them. Not for the first time, Omera wished she could see his eyes. Did he feel as anxious as she did about this little “family” they had made? Did he regret letting her come along? He could feasibly leave her and Winta behind, still. Was he, perhaps, just enjoying this quiet moment with her, before chores had to be done, before children had to be tended to, before any more fighting with those who would take their precious little one? She hoped he was. She hoped he could see the promise in her eyes, that they were a team now, that they would trust and help each other, that they would share their burdens going forward.

His thumb rubbed little circles on the back of her hand and she squeezed back gently in response.

When they didn’t move for a while, the droid driving the cart whistled and beeped at them, which did a very good job of breaking the mood. Omera pursed her lips as the Mandalorian stepped away (and she thought she could hear an annoyed “droids” hissed under his breath as he went).

Loading the ship itself wasn’t hard. It was obviously meant for a small crew, maybe even just one person, with the lower level consisting of what looked to be storage, a small berth, and a vacc-tube. The Mandalorian quickly closed the door to the little refresher, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. He was obviously used to living here alone.

The kids were easy to settle in. The little one stayed fast asleep in the Mandalorian’s arms, and Winta was too tired to do more than mumble as Omera helped her into the berth. It was covered with a pile of old cloaks, and with the addition of Winta’s bedding they’d packed, it made a cozy nest for two smallish children.

Omera tucked them in with a kiss on each forehead before turning to the incredibly tense man at the base of the ladder leading to the upper level. Trying to help him relax, she smiled. “Do you have a place I can sleep as well?” she asked, picking up her own bedding. “I’d be fine to set up here next to the kids.”

If anything, he seemed to grow more uncomfortable. “There’s no other bed on the ship.”

Was he embarrassed there wasn’t more room? Is that why he was so stiff? Goodness sake, she wasn’t a spoiled Core-worlder. He knew that. She nodded at him and started to spread out her things on the floor. When he didn’t move, she gave him a look, one eyebrow rising. “And where do you plan on sleeping?”

He was silent for a while. “I’ll be flying the ship.” He was gone before she could say anything, climbing the ladder and disappearing into the cockpit.

As she laid down and rolled herself up in her blanket, she had a thought. Was he uncomfortable about sleeping in the same space as them? She bit her lip and turned to look at the ceiling. He still hadn’t actually removed his helmet in front of her. That other bounty hunter from earlier had interrupted them. And, yes, they’d be traveling together now, but…

Hm. She needed to talk to him. She’d wait until he got the ship into hyperspace, though. No need to distract him.

But the hours of travel and the effort of keeping two kids happy on the way had worn her out, and she soon fell asleep to the hum of the engines.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk. Kind of.

“I’m not expecting you to remove your helmet.”

The man in the pilot’s seat only turned his head the slightest bit, but Omera saw his grip tighten on the controls of the ship.

“I know, earlier, when...well, when I asked you to stay in the village...I understand, whatever you choose to do. I just...wanted to clear that up.” She looked down at her hands in her lap, not quite sure how he would respond.

Her nap as the ship had taken off had been short, and after checking to see that the kids were still good, she’d climbed up to the cockpit to talk. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, she was thinking she should have taken more time to gather her thoughts. Oh, well. Never let it be said that she, Omera, was a coward.

“The way you choose to live your life is important, and since I can’t offer you the community of the village anymore...I don’t want you to feel like you need to give up everything for us to stay with you. And I know we haven’t made any promises to each other, but I want you to know—”

He suddenly flipped a switch that seemed to be the autopilot and spun his seat around to face her, hands braced on his knees. _Oh, star’s end, he was intense._ He didn’t seem to have anything to say. Maybe he just wanted to see her face while she spoke? She cleared her throat and tried to remember what she’d been saying. “That is, I want you to know…”

No movement. Just the intensity of eyes she’d never seen. To an enemy, this unwavering focus would be unnerving and frightening. To her...well. It was another thing _entirely_.

_Focus, Omera! This is important!_ “You don’t need to change. That’s...that’s what I wanted to say. I’m not expecting that from you.”

Not her most eloquent moment. Had she even gotten her point across? Maybe. It was incredibly difficult to concentrate with him looking at her like he was (oh, but it was in the best possible way).

It took a long time, but he did eventually respond: his head tilted a bit in acknowledgment. “Thank you,” he said, his voice very soft.

She smiled. Did she _want_ him to take his helmet off? Yes. It was hard to see deep emotions in eyes forever hidden by a visor. It was hard to know if he was actually smiling when he tilted his head just so. And it was very hard to kiss someone senseless when their mouth was covered all the time.

But what she wanted more than those things was just to _be_ with him. Exist close to where he existed. Share what things they could with each other. Raise their kids together. Even if the armor he wore was forever a physical barrier between them, there didn’t need to be an emotional barrier as well. She reached out to grab one of his hands and brought it close to her heart. “I’ll let you get back to piloting,” she said, lifting his hand to press a kiss to his gloved fingers. Then she rose to go back down to the kids.

Only, he had kept hold of one of her hands. When she felt the tug of him stopping her from leaving, she turned back to him, waiting for him to speak or to release her hand. They stayed in that position for what seemed to be a suspended moment of time, reaching for each other without moving.

“Omera…” he said after a while, and just hearing her name with his voice sent shivers racing down her spine. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to give up everything, either.” The words came slowly, but she could feel the sincerity behind them.

“I have my family.” She gave his fingers a squeeze and, in a moment of possibly insane courage, she moved to kiss the metal of his helmet right above the visor. “I already have everything I need.” Then she turned and left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian helps Winta.

There was definitely a learning curve for living for extended amounts of time in a small ship. Omera had experience with it from her youth, but her daughter was not used to not being able to run around outside.

It was painfully obvious.

Winta was fidgety once she’d woken up, pacing around the small bottom floor and talking about how small the ship was and how weird it was not to wake up with the sun. Omera tried to distract her by asking her to help make a meal for them. They used the food that the farmers had packed for them, but it didn’t take very long since most of it was already prepared, and Winta was soon back to pacing.

Her anxious energy seemed to be upsetting the child, who was starting to whimper as he watched Winta walk. Feeling the lack of available space herself, Omera took a calming breath and asked Winta to take a plate of food up to the cockpit.

The first attempt to climb the ladder while holding the plate showed that it would be much too difficult. They figured out that Winta could climb partway up, Omera could hand her the plate to put on the floor of the upper level, Winta could climb the rest of the way and pick up the plate at the top.

It took a few minutes once her daughter had left to calm the child down enough for him to eat. Finally, he relaxed and let her feed him little nibbles of mushroom and krill patties without protest. When he was done, she let him play with the fingers of one hand as she ate her own food.

He seemed baffled by her five fingers as opposed to his three, grabbing each one and cooing curiously. She laughed when he started gnawing on one, gently pulling it out of his mouth. “I’m not for eating, little one.” He frowned at her and she cuddled him close. “There now, there’s nothing to be upset about. Here, let’s find you something you can play with.” She set him down and let him toddle around while she dug through the bag of supplies. Sure enough, she found one of the teething rings someone had made for the child and waved it at him. “Look what I found!”

He giggled and toddled over, reaching for the ring. She picked him up and let him grab it, smiling as he busily went to work trying to chew through the un-chewable toy.

After she cleaned up the plates they’d used, she realized that Winta hadn’t come back down yet. She sighed. Didn’t Winta remember that she had to leave to let the man eat? “Well, come on, little one. Let’s go rescue a bounty hunter.”

She managed to get up the ladder while still holding him. Once she started walking towards the cockpit, the child started wiggling and reaching towards the open door. She let him down and he walked into the cockpit, still gnawing on the ring.

The scene she found when she peaked around the side of the door made her heart melt.

The Mandalorian was leaning against the back of the pilot’s chair, where Winta sat. He had flipped on the autopilot and was pointing to various controls, telling her what they did. When the child wandered next to Winta, she picked him up and put him on her lap. “Look,” she said, “this is how to fly a ship.” She then proceeded to tell the tiny boy how he might go about getting a ship to turn left, right, up, and down. The man standing behind her corrected her when she said something wrong, but she seemed to have absorbed the short lesson quite well and hardly needed any correction at all. The baby cooed happily as she talked, waving his little hands and reaching for the shinier knobs and levers.

Omera stepped into the cockpit and the man turned his head towards her. She smiled and gestured for him to come over. He did, slowly and after making sure that Winta wouldn’t touch any of the buttons that would mess with the autopilot.

“Thank you,” she said softly when he reached her. “She's not used to being cooped up like this. She’s been antsy since she woke up.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I think all kids are like that, their first time in space.” He leaned against the wall next to her and crossed his arms. “We’ll land in a few hours to refuel and they can run around then.”

She nodded, and they enjoyed the quiet moment, watching Winta now pretend to be evading pirates and telling her tiny co-pilot to “man the blasters!” The baby squealed happily and Omera smiled. She leaned over ever so slightly so that her arm pressed against the Mandalorian’s. He looked down at her, then turned when Winta shouted, “Quick! Evasive maneuvers!” (She had grabbed the baby and rolled off the chair, which would be incredibly counterproductive in a real fight but was a masterful idea to entertain a little child).

And Omera might have imagined it, but she thought she heard a quiet chuckle from the man beside her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian gives Omera a gift.

The Razor Crest was coming in to land near a small outpost, and Winta seemed determined to understand as much as she could about landing a ship.

“What did that one do?” she asked, pointing to a switch that the Mandalorian had just flipped.

“Deployed the landing gear.”

She nodded. “All of it at once?”

“No. The front and back have different controls.”

“So which did you do?”

And on it went. Omera sat in the other chair in the cockpit with the little one in her lap, content to listen to the commentary and keep the baby from touching every button he could reach. He seemed determined to press them all, and while it was adorable how he kept trying to mimic the man currently flying the ship, she didn’t want them all to die. They should think about finding a hover-pram or baby seat for him.

Winta clung to the side of the pilot seat as they landed. When she saw the rolling hills of grass out the viewport, her eyes widened and she started whipping her head around, trying to see it all. “Mama, mama, there’s no trees _at all_!”

Omera smiled. “No, doesn’t look like it.”

“But how do they get wood for buildings or fires? Or nuts to eat?” She sounded so concerned. Had Omera ever been this naive about other worlds? Probably.

“Every world is different. Why don’t you get ready to go and—” Before she could finish, Winta ran out of the cockpit. Omera shook her head and stood, stretching a little before turning her smile to the Mandalorian. “Thank you,” she said. “You were very patient with her. Hopefully she’ll tire herself out here and calm down a little.” She was glad that her daughter and the Mandalorian were getting along together. Back on Sorgan, Winta had been more focused on playing with the baby to take much notice of his guardian, though she’d obviously admired him and Cara as heroes. And while Omera knew the Mandalorian was patient with his little boy, and generally polite to all the villagers, it was good to see that he was accommodating to Winta specifically and that he was willing to answer her endless questions. After all, the four of them were a kind of family now.

The man flipping a few more switches and then came to stand beside her. The baby cooed and reached for him. “Hang on, kid.” He gestured slightly to the door of the cockpit and followed Omera as she walked out. “I was wondering,” the Mandalorian said as they walked to the ladder, “where you learned to shoot.”

That...was not in any way an expected question. “Oh. I didn’t tell you already?” His silence was his answer. He wouldn’t have asked if she had. Besides, she didn’t mind sharing her past with him. “Well, it’s nothing special. I didn’t grow up on Sorgan. My family was driven off our home planet by battle droids during the Clone Wars.” She pretended not to notice how his helmet turned sharply towards her when she said _battle droids_. Instead, she looked at the baby and smoothed her hand over his fuzzy head. The Mandalorian only hesitated a moment before heading down the ladder. “I don’t think my home planet is habitable anymore...we were refugees, and my mother thought it would be smart if we learned to protect ourselves. We had one old blaster rifle we used to practice with, and I practiced a lot. I’ve never been able to afford my own, and after moving to Sorgan, it didn’t seem necessary.” She looked down the ladder at him and grinned. “You may have noticed there’s not normally a whole lot of crime there.”

He huffed. “I noticed. Even the cantinas are nice. I tried to bribe a bartender for information and they thought I just wanted my soup faster.” He reached up and added, “Pass me the kid.”

She knelt down and let the man grab the boy before turning to climb down herself, talking over her shoulder as she went. “Yes, that sounds about right. The most trouble we had before the raids was animals from the forest trying to get krill. They were easy enough to chase off. We thought we were safe.” She sighed as she reached the bottom and looked over at the very small pile of luggage she and Winta had brought. “I guess no place is completely safe, after all.”

The Mandalorian suddenly thrust the baby back into her arms and walked over to a keypad on the wall. He tapped in a code and a cabinet unit unlocked. Confused, Omera slowly followed as he stood looking in it for a while, arms crossed. A bit closer, she could see the entire cabinet was full of weapons. He grabbed a couple things and typed the code again to close the cabinet before turning towards.

He held out a blaster pistol and holster. She looked at them in surprise. “For me?”

He nodded. “About time you had a weapon of your own, don’t you think?”

She shifted the child to one arm and reached for the gun with the other, even while saying, “I don’t know how to use a pistol.”

“I’ll teach you. Besides, just having one means some people won’t mess with you.”

Well, then. But she’d overheard him tell some people of the village who asked why he had so many weapons, _I’m Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion_. Why was he giving her one of his own? It was practical to loan out a gun for a single fight. It was another thing to give it away completely. She drew back her hand.

“But isn’t that—”

He shook his head slightly and stepped up to her side, clipping the loops of the holster over her belt and putting the blaster in it. “It’s yours. I have a rifle that will work for you, too. It’s in one of the crates. I’ll get it out in a bit.”

A bit bemused, she didn’t really have much to say to that. Only, “Thank you.”

He gave a shallow nod and started walking towards the exit ramp where Winta was bouncing on her toes and talking about how fast she could run without any trees in the way.

He stopped her chattering by holding up a hand. “I’m going to check it out first. Make sure it’s safe.”

Winta pouted. “But _why?_ ” her daughter cried. “Let’s just go! I didn’t see anything bad out the window! There’s just some rocks and bushes and a little town!”

“Winta,” Omera said in a firm voice. Her daughter, startled, looked at her. “Do you remember what I said before we left?” Confusion was her response and she wanted to sigh. She moved forward and put a hand on one small shoulder. “You have to listen to what we tell you to do. People are hunting us. It’s our job to keep you and the baby safe.”

Winta looked a bit scared. “Even here? But it looks so nice!” Omera nodded and Winta deflated a little.

Omera tapped her daughter’s chin to get her to look up again. “And it’s your job as a big sister to help us when you can. We’re all a family, remember? We stick together. We help each other.” The little one cooed and Winta looked at him for a while.

“Okay,” she said in a whisper, reaching up to touch one of his tiny hands.

Omera looked up at the man standing near the door (who looked a bit conflicted about what to do) and gestured with her head for him to go.

His head turned to look at the door controls, them back to them. “I won’t take long.” He opened the ramp, and when it hit the dirt, he walked out. After looking around, he said back to the ship, “Stay put.” And then he was gone.

Omera looked back down at the somewhat subdued children and sighed. “Come on. Let’s get everything ready to go.” She set the baby down on the berth and had Winta help her put together some lunches they could take with them. After a few minutes of gentle conversation, Winta was back to wondering how the people on this planet made do without wood. She even started to play a little clapping game with the child when they finished preparing the meals.

All the while, the weight of the blaster on her hip distracted her. Omera looked at the children, now giggling at each other, and was grateful that she now had an easier way to defend her family.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian lands on Tatooine after his ship is damaged.

They were sitting on the floor on the lower level of the Razor Crest as it flew, Omera holding the little one on her lap while Winta started a holo-story for them to watch and listen to. It was about a frog from a swamp planet getting stuck on a desert planet and trying to find its way home, complete with moving holos. Winta had picked it out at a town on the grassland planet, laughing at the frog and wondering if the child would like it.

Said child did, in fact, like it very much. He tried to grab the repeating holo of the hopping frog, only to grunt when Omera kept a firm hold on him, his natural pout deepening. Winta giggled and clicked the button to go to the next image.

It was a nice, peaceful moment, and Omera had the fleeting wish that the Mandalorian would join them.

Then the ship suddenly jolted to the side and all three of them were thrown against the wall.

“Grab onto something!” the Mandalorian shouted from above. “A hunter’s on our tail!”

Omera had managed to keep the baby in her arms. He was quiet, but she could hear Winta starting to whimper. Also, Omera was fairly sure she’d hit her own head on something, because the man’s earlier words were taking a moment to process.

The ship did some kind of maneuver that the artificial gravity couldn’t quite keep up with, and they slid into the other wall. Wincing at whatever was jabbing into her shoulder, she looked around the small area for a safe place to wait out the fight. The best place would probably be the cockpit, where they could all strap in securely to the seats, but as the ship did another stomach-turning flip, she decided it was much too risky to try and climb the ladder to get there. But what to do?

The berth! Not much danger of sliding all over and hitting into things in the confined space. She started to scoot over, gesturing for Winta to follow. When she reached the berth, she pulled herself in with the baby and helped Winta in as well. She hit the button for the sliding door to close and took a deep breath as they were cut off from the rest of the ship.

Omera held Winta close and hushed both her and the little one. Part of her hated waiting, waiting while her life and everything she cared about was threatened, but she trusted the Mandalorian to keep them safe, just as , just as he trusted her to keep the kids safe. She had done her part; he would do his. So she closed her eyes and tried to radiate calm.

The child, whose only tell of stress seemed to be the tension in his tiny body, seemed to relax, cuddling closer. Winta just held tight to her, obviously not relaxing at all..

And then the power went out. Omera could hear the engines stop, and then the berth lights flickered out. She had a moment of muted panic before she realized that they were no longer being shot at. If there was a problem, surely the Mandalorian would come down and tell them. Or he would fix the problem on his own. Or...well, any number of things, some of them terrible.

That train of thought was helping no one, so she hummed a work song from the fishing village to distract the kids and herself as she waited. To her relief, emergency lights eventually came on. Not dead, then, nor in danger of imminent death. It did sound like one of the engines was struggling, though.

She decided it was safe to leave the berth, reaching over to press the button to open the door. “Come on,” she said, nudging Winta to get out. “Let’s go see what’s happened.”

Her daughter stayed close to her as they headed to the cockpit. It was, after all, the first time they’d actually been attacked. Perhaps Winta had thought the two adults were just being paranoid, with their rules for staying together and keeping the baby safe, but it was obvious to her now.

Winta didn’t bother sitting in one of the back seats in the cockpit. She instead stood next to the Mandalorian’s chair and asked in a voice that was both shaking in fear and firm with determination, “How can I help?”

He gave her a look and Omera was ready to tell Winta to sit down and let the man fly. The ship was damaged, so even though she did appreciate Winta’s willingness to help and knew that giving her daughter a job to do would distract her, she figured the Mandalorian would prefer to control the ship by himself. Before she could speak, he gave Winta some simple instructions (push that button when I tell you to, flip that switch when this light goes off). Omera silently settled into one of the seats.

They were headed to Mos Eisley, apparently. The Mandalorian told her the damage to the ship in between communications with traffic control. She noticed he said nothing about the fate of the ship that had chased them, although she was certain that particular bounty hunter wouldn’t be hunting anyone ever again.

Winta was so distracted from the fight that she was starting to get excited about seeing another new world, but that she didn’t notice how short the Mandalorian’s answers to her questions were getting. Omera never seen him lose his temper--he didn’t seem the type unless under extreme duress, and even then it would probably be more of a devastating calm than fiery rage. Still, she decided it would be better to yet again distract her daughter so the man could breathe. “Winta, will you see if we have enough food for lunch?”

“But mama!”

“Now, please. We need to know if we need to buy something to eat.” The Mandalorian seemed to tense up further when she said that. Hm.

At last, Winta was persuaded to go and left the cockpit.

The two of them (plus the baby, who was content with looking around) sat in silence for a few moments as the Mandalorian flew into the lower atmosphere. Omera could guess how to act: wait for him to speak first. Let him gather his thoughts. If he didn’t speak, that was okay, too. She’d wait until the atmospheric tension was gone, and then she’d ask. Or maybe something different. But for now, she waited.

“We’re running low on credits,” he said at length. His voice was strained, his grip on the controls tight.

Omera hummed. That didn’t surprise her. There were four of them to feed, and they spent a lot of their time in space. “Will we have enough to land in a hangar and get repairs?” The wheezing of the damaged engine was a bit nerve-wracking and she wanted it fixed as soon as possible. "I think I have about 200 old Imperial credits I had saved up. It’s not much, and it’s useless in most places, but we didn’t really use currency on Sorgan except in town.”

He glanced over at her. “They’d probably take Imperial credits here, but you should keep your savings. I’ll see if I can get a job in town, but I won’t be able to get any guild work, which makes things difficult.” His gaze shifted down to the child before he refocused on flying. “I’ll get the money, though.”

She wasn’t worried about that. “If you won’t use my savings, I feel a bit useless.” She smiled and looked at the desert planet below them. “And I don’t feel like anyone here needs help with krill harvests, which is what I’ve gotten good at.”

He shook his head slightly and they sat quietly for a bit longer as he started to land. After a few frightening moments, they were on the ground.

She stood turned to leave, but stopped when she heard, “Weaving.”

She looked over to the pilot seat. “What?”

“You made baskets and those belts and collars for you and Winta, right? You can weave.”

She brought her hand up to the collar she wore. “Well, yes. I can. I don’t have loom or fiber to make cloth, though, or reeds for a basket. It’s a bit of an up-front investment.” She shrugged. “And there’s no guarantee people would want anything I make. I know Sorgan was a bit of a backwater, and hand-woven things probably aren’t in fashion anywhere else.”

He stood up and walked over, reaching up and hesitantly running his fingers over the intricate weaving around her neck. She smiled at him so he knew he was welcome (he was very cautious about initiating any kind of physical contact, although he was being braver) and he let his hand rest fully on her shoulder. “I think you’d be surprised,” he said, low and soft.

She focused on breathing evenly. The gentle pressure of his hand, his nearness, his soothing voice, and his apparent appreciation of her skill all combined in a way that made her feel lightheaded and fluttery. She turned her head to press her lips against his gloved hand. He took a half-step closer to her and her heart sped up.

And then the baby in her arms screeched and the Mandalorian was a few steps away in the time it took her to blink. He looked down at the child (who looked completely innocent of any horrendous noise-making) then back to her. “I...I’ll be outside.” And he was gone.

Omera raised an eyebrow at the baby, who cooed. “Don't like being ignored, hm, little one?” He tilted his head at her and she sighed. “Well, let’s get going.”

She considered the weaving plan as she made her way down. It might work, even if the weaving just made a small bit of money. But how much would she have to make to break even if she got a loom and some fiber? She’d have to think about it some more and discuss some options with the Mandalorian. 

Winta had waited impatiently for Omera to come downstairs. She pointed at the food they had and said in a rush, “It’s enough for lunch, can I go outside now, please?” Omera looked to the armored man currently digging through one of the storage bins. He nodded.

Winta smiled and dashed out of the ship. The two adults (and tiny child) followed at a more sedate pace, the Mandalorian giving up his search to walk out with her and Omera grabbing a blanket and wrapping the child in such a way that his distinctive skin color and massive ears were hidden from sight. Some bounty hunters had tracking fobs, yes, but there was no reason to make it easy for them. She felt a hand touch her back gently for a moment, and then he strode over to the mechanic.

The mechanic was a delightfully grouchy woman named Peli Motto. She looked a bit confused at Winta, who was too afraid to talk to her but ran right out of the ship, over to the droids and started yammering away.

Omera stood off to the side as the Mandalorian and the mechanic discussed damage and costs. He kept glancing at Winta and the droids and finally said, “How much for no droids?” Omera was surprised, she had to admit. Did he have something against them? He’d never really interacted with the farm droids, but he had no reason to. The astromech unit that drove the cart he also seemed fine with. He’d never spoken about a reason not to like droids, but that wasn’t too odd.

“No droids?” Peli looked baffled but gave him the estimate. She looked at Omera holding the baby. “But it’d be better to have the droids help. It’d be cheaper for you, plus if they help, you’d be out of here quicker. Mos Eisley’s isn’t any place for younglings, if you know what I mean.” She nodded in their general directing, frowning slightly.

The Mandalorian was quiet for a long time. Just as Peli looked ready to say something else, he said, “Fine. The droids can help. How long do you think it will take?” She told him, and he gave a quick nod and turned to Omera.

She smiled. “Well, go on. We’ll keep ourselves entertained.”

He looked at her belt where the blaster was attached as if to check it was still there. “Keep out of the cantinas. And stay together.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll keep them safe. I doubt Winta wants to go all that far anyway.” They both turned to see the girl tap one of the pig droids on the “nose,” then jump back and laugh as it folded up. Omera sighed. “Sweetheart, leave the droids alone, please.”

Winta did let the droids finally pass her and get to work, although she stayed close and watched as they gathered parts for repairs.

The Mandalorian seemed reluctant to leave. Omera cocked her head at him. “Hey.” He looked at her. “We’ll be fine. And the sooner you leave, the sooner you get back, and the sooner we can go.” The baby cooed as if to second her logic and she bounced him a little. “See? All good.”

He hesitated a moment more before reaching out and rubbing the little one’s back. The baby hummed and snuggled against Omera like it was ready to sleep. It was so absolutely darling that she couldn’t help the no-doubt sappy smile on her face and kissed the top of his tiny head. The man’s hand moved and hovered over her arm for a moment before pulling back. “Right. Be back soon.” And he turned and left.

Omera shook her head as she watched him go. He seemed unwilling to be openly affectionate in public, which she could understand. At least he didn’t have that problem when they were alone. He was a difficult person to know, but it was worth every effort.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian finds a job.

Peli had led Omera to a cluttered room after lunch (it might have once been a waiting area, but only one chair wasn’t completely buried under old scrap) so the baby could have some quiet to sleep. The room had a window, so Omera was able to keep an eye on the repair work. She smiled at the scene.

Winta was watching the mechanic and her droids work on the strict condition that she touch absolutely nothing and not talk too much. Dutifully, Winta held her hands behind her back, rocking up on her toes when she wanted to get a better look at something. Her daughter had warmed up a bit to the mechanic herself, enough that she didn’t immediately try to hide whenever the older woman spoke directly to her.

Omera shook her head. Being so shy wasn’t much of a problem in a small fishing community where no one was a stranger, but it would make some parts of living on the move and always meeting new people interesting. Then again, Winta would be less inclined to wander off on her own in new places, so there might be a benefit to her shyness as well. As long as they were in danger of bounty hunters, it would be better to stay together.

Pressing her lips together, she looked down at the tiny green child in her lap. She could quite honestly say that this was not the direction she’d seen her life going. Leaving the quiet life of a fisher behind to run off with a bounty hunter? That was the stuff of romantic dramas.

Those dramas didn’t usually feature navigating child care with another parent, though. Or any consideration for the slightly daunting task of finding a way to contribute monetarily while always on the move. Or how to progress a relationship when the bounty hunter you ran off with was intense, socially awkward, but very gentle to those he cared about. Or how to handle the heart of a man so very durable in some ways and so very fragile in others.

No, the romances that featured bounty hunters were full of dashing, suave, eloquent heroes rescuing their loves from distress, saving the day against all odds and flying off into hyperspace. Very little actual bounty hunting was done. No one wondered how they were going to get their next few meals. Those dramas tied off with a nice clean ending, no loose ends, but plenty of romantic tension.

She huffed. _That_ part was true for her little “story.” Tension? Yes. In the quiet moments; in the strong, steadying hands on her waist when she stood up too fast, giving her an excuse to grab his arms, both of them lingering past any risk of falling; when she managed to get him to sit down and tell stories (age-appropriate ones) to the kids after they ate dinner and were winding down for sleep, and she held his hand in both of hers as the children slept, twining their fingers together and wondering when, or if, he’d be comfortable taking off his gloves; when he stood a bit closer than was probably necessary as he taught her how to shoot a pistol, his hands remaining on her shoulder and hip after he had nudged her into position, the warmth of him barely noticeable from the scant centimeters between them but there nonetheless (and she wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that he hadn’t touched her like this before, when he was training the villagers to shoot).

If he wasn’t a Mandalorian, she’d know exactly how to act, how to respond. It involved a great deal of kissing and a fair amount of away-from-the-kids time. But he _was_ Mandalorian. He was committed to it, too, and that meant making it work, which meant communication and maybe a bit of experimentation and patience.

Which was pretty difficult with two children underfoot, especially when one of those children was currently being hunted for unknown reasons. It wasn’t like they could just hire a babysitter and take a night for themselves, though.

As she tried to puzzle through that particular problem, she was distracted by the Mandalorian walking back into the hangar. Winta ran right over to him and started bouncing around and pointing at various things, presumably telling him all about whatever it was mechanics did. He nodded at her, then looked around. Winta pointed to the waiting area and Omera waved at them through the window.

She tried to stand without waking the baby, but almost like he sensed that his guardian was near, he woke with some bleary blinking and confused cooing. She huffed at his grumpy little face and stroked his forehead with one thumb. His brow unfurrowed (as much as it could, anyways) and he grabbed at her hand. Such a calm child. As a baby, Winta had always cried after she woke up from naps. This serenity was a nice change of pace. She carefully arranged the blanket to hide the child again, being careful of his ears.

Peli had walked over to the man as Omera had rewrapped the baby, talking to him and gesturing to the ship. Winta smiled at her mother as she came out of the waiting room but stayed next the Mandalorian.

Omera noticed that Winta was now trying to copy the man’s stance, shoulders back, arms crossed, going so far as to try to keep her face in a very stern expression (in what could possibly be considered an attempt to mimic his visor) as the adults talked, and Omera was very, very proud of herself for not laughing.

She wished she could see the Mandalorian’s eyes, to see what he thought of his little copy-cat without letting Winta know what they found so cute and making her embarrassed. He did glance slightly down at Winta, then shifted a bit to put his hands on his hips. Winta hurried to mimic him.

Ha. He knew. He thought it was cute, too, she would bet, from the slight tilt of his head towards the girl. Omera even heard one of his little huffs of amusement as she came up beside them.

She held out the child for the Mandalorian to take, which he did, very gingerly. The child made some happy noises and the man bounced him a little, which made the child laugh.

Peli just raised an eyebrow at all of them with a smile and shook her head. “Anyways, the majority of the work is done. There’s some things that need a bit of time to set, but by the time you get back from your job, you’ll be set to go and then some.” _He found a job, then. Good._

The Mandalorian said a quick “thank you” and strode off to the ship‘s ramp. Omera and Winta followed close behind, Winta actually racing forward to launch into a lecture about the different kinds of wrenches a person could use.

On the ship, the Mandalorian had set the child down with Winta, who was continuing her “lesson.” The man was searching through the box again, the one he’d been looking in before he’d left to find work. While he looked for whatever he needed, Omera took the meal she had saved for him out of the very small cooler unit and walked to his side.

He eventually found what he was looking for and stood up.

“Here,” she said, holding the foil-wrapped food out before he could say anything. “We got you lunch.” He looked at the food, then back up to her. “It’s just a burrito of some kind. I figured you wouldn’t have a chance to eat anything while you were out, and Peli had one of the droids go get us all some food so we could stay out of sight.”

Slowly, he took the burrito. “How did you pay for this?” he said, turning the food around to see all sides of it. It brought to mind how someone might examine a bomb, wary and curious.

“I used a bit of our savings. You were right about people accepting Imperial Credits here.” His grip tightened. “Careful!” she said, reaching out to tug his fingers away. He relaxed a bit and there was a bit of an awkward pause as they both stared at the now slightly squished burrito.

In that pause, Omera wondered if he was keeping himself from saying anything about her using _her_ money, although she hoped he’d gotten the hint from “our savings.” She’d like for them to work together with their money. It was a conversation that needed to happen, but maybe not right before he left for a job, so she held her tongue.

At length, he managed, “Thank you.”

Or maybe he was just surprised that she’d gotten him food. Some of the strangest things left him in quiet contemplation, things she found boringly normal, like when she kept bringing him food. (He had cooked them all dinner once on that grassy planet. It had become obvious to Omera why the only food stored on his ship had been no-prep ration bars. She had not asked him to cook since, and he had not offered. She was now trying to think of a way to give him lessons without somehow insulting him.)

She smiled at him. “Of course. I’ll let you eat.” She walked back down the ramp of the ship, herding the children off as well. Winta picked up the baby and pointed at some soldering the mechanic had done so the he could appreciate it. The baby, being a baby, had about as much appreciation for soldering as one might expect and was starting to squirm in Winta’s arms. Omera chuckled, then looked around the hangar. Peli seemed to have stepped out, maybe to give them some privacy. “Winta, let him run around for a bit.” The child was soon waddling around, Winta herding him away from anything dangerous while she now told _Omera_ what she’d learned. Omera listened, a bit bemused; Winta had never shown any interest in mechanics before they left. Was this and the interest in flying because of the novelty of it all, or because she actually had a desire to learn these things? Whatever the case, it kept her daughter busy, so she’d appreciate it while it lasted

A few minutes later, the Mandalorian came back outside with something in his hand. He took a moment to look down at the children, who were now giggling at something, and Omera would have bet anything that he had at least a small smile on his face.

He turned to her. “The job I got shouldn’t take more than a day or two,” he said right off the bat. Blunt, as always. Omera had no frame of reference for how long bounty hunting usually took, so she just nodded. He held out what looked like a small comm link. She took it and examined it as he talked. “It’s a two-way comm.” He held up another, identical comm link. “I’ll have the other one. Don’t comm unless it’s an emergency.”

Right. Hard to be sneaky when a comm link was going off. “Will _you_ comm me when you can, then?”

He seemed surprised by her request and didn’t answer for a few moments. She wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking, if he was just unused to checking in with a home-base on a job or genuinely surprised she wanted to talk to him. She looked over at the kids and waited.

“I will try.” He sounded confused, which really only meant that he had a slightly less purposeful tone than usual.

“It’s just…” she started, trying to think of how to articulate her feelings so he wouldn’t be frightened off or even more confused. “We’ll miss you.” Hm. Of course the children would miss him, but that’s not the reason she wanted him to comm. “I’ll miss you. I like talking with you.” She didn’t doubt that he’d probably say very little over the comm (he spoke very little in general), but if she couldn’t have him beside her, having him through comm was better than nothing. “And I want to know you’re...well, maybe safe isn’t the right word. Alive?” She considered it, then nodded. “Yes. I want to know you’re alive and coming back to us.”

He was, again, quiet for a while before nodding. “I’ll try to comm before nightfall, maybe in the morning. Jobs are...unpredictable at best, but I’ll try.” He reached out a hand and brushed his fingers against her wrist, sliding them down to hold her hand. _Feeling brave, is he?_

She gave him a smile before looking to see if the children were watching. They weren’t, so Omera quickly pressed a kiss to one of the cheekbone-like ridges on his helmet. “Thank you.”

Then Winta ran over to them, squealing about something, and the Mandalorian dropped her hand. _Oh, well. Little steps._

A few more minutes and he said it was time for him to meet his contact. He walked to one of the hangar doors that led out of Mos Eisley and Winta followed him out, chattering the whole way.

Omera scooped up the little one that was trying to waddle after them. “Hey, now. Let’s get you some food, okay, little sleepyhead?” He cooed and his ears perked up, and she wondered how much Basic he could actually understand. She suspected he was very good at not understanding them when it came to things he didn’t want to hear. (Like so many children.)

Winta came back, saying the Mandalorian and another man had driven off on swoop bikes, and Omera recruited her for the feeding of their smallest family member.

—

The sound of a blaster jolted Omera awake. She looked around frantically—she was in the berth on the Razor Crest, the little one waking up at her side.

Where was Winta?

Where was the Mandalorian?

She fumbled trying to pull the comm out of her pocket—no messages. She wasn’t sure what was going on, so she wasn’t sure if it warranted a comm to her occupied bounty hunter. What if there had been misfire from a blaster, or something equally non-urgent?She kept the comm in her hand, though, just in case.

She heard the voice of a person she didn’t recognize, though. What was going on? Had Peli brought in a new customer, maybe a friend? Or maybe they were about to be robbed at gunpoint.

She slowly left the berth, scanning around the ship’s lower level. Winta wasn’t in sight. She also hadn’t run up the ramp to explain the sound of a blaster; actually, Omera couldn’t hear her daughter at all. Strange, now that Winta had decided to follow Peli everywhere she could and ask as many questions as possible. Omera decided not to call out, seeing as there was an unknown person with unknown motives who might hear her.

The rifle the Mandalorian had picked out for her was leaning against the wall and she picked it up. Better safe than dead.

She strained to listen to the conversation outside. She couldn’t understand the unknown voice, but Peli was saying something rather loudly: “Now there’s no need to be pointing blasters at people. We can be reasonable.”

Someone was pointing blasters at someone else. Possibly at Winta.

This qualified as an emergency.

But how to comm without alerting the attackers to her presence? And how to keep the baby safe?

She remembered the sliding door of the berth—she could shut the baby in there so he would be safe. And the comm? Hm. Could this comm send text messages? Yes, short ones, it looked like. A quick message—quick to write, quick to read. She sent “DANGER” and hoped he’d understand. Then she tucked the comm away and turned to the baby. “Hush now,” she whispered, willing a smile to her face. “Be very quiet. We’re going to play a hiding game, alright? You hide here. Winta will come find you.” And she shut the sliding door, hoping the child had understood and would stay put.

Alright. Time to figure out what was going on.

She kept her rifle at the ready as she crept over to the door so she could peer out.

A young human or near-human man, dressed much too nicely to actually be from Mos Eisley, was casually pointing a blaster at Peli. Peli had herded Winta behind her and was trying to talk the man down. One of the pig droids had been shot and was smoking on the ground, and the two others were nowhere to be seen.

Was the man alone? Were more of his associates waiting out of sight? Was he trying to rob them? (He was dressed very nicely, looked well fed and clean; he didn’t seem like a desperate thief.) Or was he here for the child?

Omera listened as he spoke. He planned on taking the child that was with the Mandalorian, since “Mando” had made it so easy for him, and her heart went all of kinds of frantic. They had only just arrived on Tatooine, very unexpectedly, and no one had seen them, right? Except...he seemed to think it was Winta, from the pronouns he used and how he was telling her to come over to him, how the bounty said dead or alive, and he’d be fine with either.

Taking deep breaths, Omera brought up her rifle and aimed at the man’s gun-wielding shoulder. Disarm him, at the very least. Element of surprise. _No one_ was taking her children. She waited for the right moment.

He seemed to be losing patience, now. He shot the ground near Peli’s feet, angry, yelling at Winta to come over or he’d shoot the mechanic.

Peli was glaring at the man like she was trying to melt him into slag with her eyes, keeping the girl behind her. Omera was beyond grateful to her.

And then Winta ducked under the woman’s protective arm and said, “Okay. Just please don’t hurt her.” Ah. Her brave daughter, afraid for herself but brave to protect others. Omera was proud and terrified all at once.

But if Winta was near the man, she was in danger of being caught in the crossfire, and that was unacceptable.

So Omera pulled the trigger before Winta could reach the smirking man.

If the man hadn’t shifted to grab the pair of binders on his belt the moment she fired the rifle, the blaster bolt would have hit his shoulder. Painful, disarming, but nonlethal. As it was, the bolt hit his chest and he fell to the ground with a cry, his blaster firing as he fell. Peli cursed and dove out of the way of the stray bolt, and Winta ducked into a ball with a screech, arms over her head

Omera kept her eyes on her target. He did not rise again.

With a sigh, she lowered her rifle. That was not how she wanted that to go.

Winta slammed into her side and Omera carefully held the gun away from her daughter, still partly on edge for any unseen assailants.

A flash of moving metal out of the corner of her eye had her shoving Winta into the ship and pulling her gun up again.

She was very surprised to see the Mandalorian in the doorway, his cape still swinging from his sprint into the hangar, his blaster out. Omera smiled in relief and put down the rifle, setting it down. After looking around the hangar, the man’s gaze stopping momentarily on their motionless assailant, the Mandalorian holstered his blaster.

As soon as Winta saw that the Mandalorian had returned, she ran down the ramp and threw herself against the man, sobbing. He seemed surprised at the girl seeking comfort from him (so was Omera, to be honest), but he gently put one gloved hand on her back and the other on her head, petting her hair as she cried. He was obviously unsure of the specifics of what happened, but didn’t seem in a rush now that the danger was nullified.

The baby cooed from behind Omera, and she turned to see him looking tired and a little grumpy at all the noise. (How had he opened the berth door?) She grabbed the him and followed Winta.

From what she could understand from what Winta was trying to say, Winta had seen the Mandalorian drive away with this man for the job. The young man said he’d learned the Mandalorian and a child he travelled with were a greater prize than the bounty he was sent to find. He had seemed to think Winta was the child in question, and that the two of them would be much more impressive than a single mercenary.

Feeling rather worn out, Omera reached them and joined the hug, leaning against the Mandalorian’s armored shoulder. He took his hand off of Winta’s head to wrap around her, holding her closer. The little one patted Winta’s hair, just as the larger man had, cooing softly. Omera looked up to the man’s visor with a small laugh. The Mandalorian looked at her for a moment, then tilted his head so that the brow of his helmet rested against her forehead.

She grew very, very still. Closing her eyes, she let her head press back slightly against his and let out a sigh. This was the closest she’d ever been to him, pressed close head to toe. And while it certainly wasn’t the kind of kiss she was used to, it gave her that same fluttery feeling, the same warmth, the same peace.

It wasn’t the most comfortable embrace, considering all the beskar and children involved, but all of them were safe and together. It was perfect.


	8. Chapter 8

They were camping on a quiet desert world today, a small fire going. Winta had been given the instructions to not let the baby fall into the fire, and then Omera walked over to where the Mandalorian was sitting and seemingly staring at the ground.

She sat next to him and waited, giving him time to collect his thoughts and admiring the night falling around them, the slight chill as the sun set and the moons rose, the chirping and humming of creatures around them.

“I know where I can get a job,” he said after a while.

“Oh? Well, that’s good news.”

He shook his head. “Not with these people. I...used to work with them, before. A few years ago. A while ago, actually. Right when I started bounty hunting. They’re...well.”

Omera scooted a little closer. “They’re what people usually think of when they hear ‘bounty hunter’?”

He huffed out a little laugh and turned to look at her. “And what do people usually think of bounty hunters?”

She hummed in thought, then said, “People without morals, I suppose. People who don’t care about anything in the galaxy but themselves.”

He sighed. “Yeah, that’s them. They’re not really...bounty hunters, though. And the group is always changing. They sort of do whatever odd job comes up, and more often than not, it’s well-paying but hardly worth the price.”

Omera shifted and pulled her arms around herself as the chill of night deepened. “So, you’ve found us a dangerous group of people with a dangerous job that may or may not be worth the risk.”

“Well, when you say it like that,” he replied in his driest tone of voice, wrapping his arm and cape around her and pulling her close, “it almost sounds like a bad idea.”

Omera smiled and leaned against him. Her Mandalorian had a sense of humor; it just took some time to shine through.

They were quiet for a while, watching the children play. Winta was telling a story, using her hands to act it out. The child watched with wide eyes that seemed to reflect the billions of stars above them.

“I don’t know what else to do,” the Mandalorian said after a while. He spoke in a whisper, quiet enough that the children couldn’t possibly overhear. “I don’t know where else to go for work. Going back, though...it feels like…” He sighed, his head bowed, and Omera didn’t dare move or speak in case she interrupted this vulnerability. “It feels like defeat,” he said, even quieter than before. “Like a starving dog crawling back to an abusive master.”

And that was one of the most difficult parts of being responsible for someone else—when could pride and dignity, self-respect, any of that, be more important than the needs of your family? Risks you wouldn’t take for yourself, you’d take for the ones you loved. Work you wouldn’t choose to do on your own, you’d do to feed your child. It was humiliating and possibly harmful to you, but it had to be considered, and difficult choices had to be made.

Omera reached up to cover his hand where it sat on her shoulder. What could she possibly say? He knew this struggle well, no doubt, since he had once been a provider for his clan. He knew how to weigh the pros and cons of a situation. He knew this situation, these people, better than her.

And he was sharing what he felt, which was wonderful but, in this specific instance, sad. Biting her lip, she turned to face him, reaching up to move his head to look at her. Then she gently, deliberately, bumped her forehead against his heltmet. “We are with you,” she whispered back. “If you think this job is worth taking, we will take it. If you think we should look somewhere else, we’ll do that.” She pulled back a little. “Besides, I may have figured out something for weaving. Next stop, I’ll have something to sell.” She nudged him and grinned. ”We can see if anyone besides my Mandalorian likes my work.”

He nudged her back. “I’m sure they will. There’s a lot of idiots out there, but we can find some with the good sense to appreciate your skill.”

 _I could say the same to you,_ she thought, and they sat and enjoyed the quiet together.


	9. Chapter 9

They came out of hyperspace and the Mandalorian began flying them towards the open hangar.

Omera took a deep breath. They had a plan. Everything would be fine.

They landed and she, for a brief second, imagined that they decided to fly away immediately. Maybe they could start homesteading in the Unknown Regions. No one would look for them in that wild part of the galaxy, right? Surely that would be safer than this?

But no, it was time to focus—she was no longer Omera the farmer, but Mer the bounty hunter. The new clothes they had traded her woven items for felt strange, but she tried to relax and settle into them. Calm and detached. She was a killer, a trick-shot, her rifle strapped to her back and her pistol an increasingly normal weight on her hip. She was merciless and unflinching. Aloof and unaffected. And it was just an act—this would not be what she would become. This was a cloak, to be worn in disguise and then set aside.

For she may be any or all of those things at times—merciless, a killer—but they were not parts of herself that she _liked_.

She checked the children, tucked away in the berth. “Alright. Remember, be very quiet. You’ll be just fine. Winta, you have the headphones?” Her daughter held up the two sets they had picked up. “Good. You guys can listen to some quiet stories, like we talked about. No making noises, though. We’ll be done with this soon, and then we’ll go somewhere nice for tonight, okay?” Winta’s wide eyes showed how unconvinced she was of the sanity and safety of this whole event and Omera wanted to sigh.

This was risky. It was, as the Mandalorian had so gracefully put it a few nights before, _a bad idea._ But without guild work, bounty hunting was harder than ever, with clients either not paying in full or at all unless threatened. Omera’s weaving had gotten them the clothes she was currently wearing, yes, but it had taken an obscene amount of time to make all the belts she had with the scant resources available to her. Winta could help her, but had limited patience, and the baby needed to be watched most of the time so he didn’t run off into mischief.

She turned as the Mandalorian hopped down the last few rungs of the ladder and the kids both looked at him as he came over. “You two all set?” he asked, coming over to gently pat the baby’s head. Winta nodded, smiling wide, and Omera bit back a laugh. When the Mandalorian asked if she was alright, Winta would happily say yes, but not for her own mother? So that’s how it was going to be for a while. Omera would have to take the Mandalorian aside and talk to him about that—but not now. (There seemed to be a lot of those “not now” conversations, actually.) Now, it was time to play her part to keep her kids fed for possibly the next couple of weeks.

“Be good, and remember: _stay quiet_ ,” Omera added, kissing both children’s foreheads before the Mandalorian shut the berth door.

The two parents looked at each other in the quiet. Omera felt her heart racing, her palms sweating. There were so many ways this plan could go wrong. After a bit, the Mandalorian tipped his head towards the exit and Omera took a deep breath, then nodded. Time to get going.

The hangar was busier than she had anticipated, although it was a fairly good-sized space station, so maybe it wasn’t too strange. People paused when they saw them: a Mandalorian, rare, and a Mandalorian’s partner, even rarer.

They approached a man with wild gray hair, who laughed and called the Mandalorian “Mando,” a nickname that had never sat well with Omera. She wondered what the Mandalorian thought of it. “Mando” was being especially quiet and restrained--for all that this man pretended camaraderie with the Mandalorian, she didn’t think the feelings were genuine on either side.

The man was called Ran, and she noticed his sharp eyes linger on her. “And who’s this you’ve brought along?”

“My partner, Mer,” the Mandalorian replied. “She’s a crack-shot. Good for any job.”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t pay her for this one. With you and your ship, we’ve got everyone we need.”

They’d discussed the possibility that Ran wouldn’t hire her on. What they _hadn’t_ discussed was the possibility that he’d want to use the _Razor Crest._ Omera felt the start of a mild panic. She took deep breaths to disperse it and attempted to look mildly disappointed by not getting the job instead.

“The _Razor Crest_? That wasn’t part of the deal. What do you need my ship for?”

Ran talked about it being off-the-grid, something Omera didn’t really understand. Surely there were other unregistered ships? He seemed to have decided, though, and she felt the Mandalorian’s reluctance to push too hard against him. Ran might decide not to give them the job, or simply have the two of them shot and take the ship, kids and all.

She stepped up next to the Mandalorian, who turned to look at her. She really wished she could see his eyes, but she tried her best to communicate with hers. “I can go get the ship ready, if you want,” she said. Warn the kids. Hide any evidence of anyone besides “Mando” and “Mer.”

He turned back to Ran. “How long of a job is it?”

Ran, who was watching them with interest, shrugged. “An hour or two, three tops. In and out. Your, ah, lady friend here—” Omera frowned at him. She had a _name_ , thank you— “can even wait in the ship, if she doesn’t mess with anything or slow you down. Might be a bit crowded, but like I said, it’s not a long job.”

Omera was still breathing deep, as slow as she could without drawing attention to herself. She needed to be calm. If they took the job, she would have to explain the change in plans to the kids quickly. Oh, it hurt her heart to leave them in the berth for so long, but it was the safest place on the ship—out of the way of prying eyes.

She wondered if this low-level panic would become the new normal for her. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

It took another long moment, but the Mandalorian eventually nodded. Ran smiled and smacked his pauldron. “Excellent! I’ll introduce you to the crew.”

As the other man turned away, Omera leaned towards the Mandalorian. “Like I said, I’ll get the ship ready.” He nodded again, so distant, even from her, and she wondered what he wanted to say. There wasn’t time, though—she had to hurry.

She set off at not-quite-a-jog to the ship. Once inside, she glanced to see if anyone was watching from outside and saw a few mechanics moving parts, so she focused on cleaning up any toys or other things that would give away the game. After that was done, she looked out again. She was worried someone would be coming up the ramp already—but she had to risk it.

She opened the berth door to see two surprised little faces. Winta started to smile and pulled off her headphones, but Omera shook her head. “New plan. Stay _very_ quiet. More people will be on the ship for a while.” Then she shut the door and checked to see if anyone was watching. None—they were safe. Her shoulders relaxed (she hadn’t even realized they had tensed up) and she felt her heart racing.

If the Mandalorian suggested they do something like this again, she was going to have a _very_ long talk with him.

A droid was the first to board the ship. It (he?) looked at her, then proceeded to look around the ship. “I am Zero. I am the pilot for this job. I must run a diagnostic of the ship.” He then climbed up the ladder to the cockpit before waiting for any response. A quick glance out the door showed that the Mandalorian was standing with a group of people around a holo-deck and that no one else was likely to board anytime soon, so Omera climbed up after the droid.

He was running a diagnostic, like he said, but when he checked the comms, a recorded message started to play. When the droid didn’t immediately stop the recording, Omera walked over and turned it off. “If you don’t mind,” she said in a hard voice. He looked at her for only a moment before turning back to his work. She frowned. The droids back on Sorgan had been very polite—this one seemed nothing like them. She supposed he wouldn’t be if he was a bounty hunter or something similar.

She waited until he was done, then followed him down. He left the ship without saying anything and Omera wasn’t sure if she was annoyed or relieved.

A Twi'lek boarded next. She glanced around lazily. “Just like I remember it. He certainly hasn’t changed much.” Her gaze landed on Omera and she smiled a sharp, unkind sort of smile, twirling what looked like a dagger in her fingers and looking Omera up and down. “And you must be Mer. I’m surprised to see him with a...partner. Especially with...well, I’m sure you already know.”

Omera did not like this woman, she knew _that_.

The purple-skinned woman continued, “I guess that makes me, well, the ex, in this situation.” Another smile and a horrendous giggle. “How awkward for you. I’m Xi’an, if you were wondering. Maybe he mentioned me?” Omera let no reaction show. This woman was trying to get a rise out of her, and she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. And she highly doubted the Mandalorian had consented to anything but a working relationship with this Xi’an. “I always knew he’d come back,” the woman went on, strolling around, taking in the stored luggage and bedroll before setting down on the bench and starting to balance one of her daggers on a finger. “It was just a matter of time.”

Sweet stars above, did this woman think she was a holostar or something? Did real people say things like that?

But Xi’an’s words reminded Omera of what the Mandalorian had said, about how coming back here felt like crawling back to an abusive master. Oh, she was liking this job less and less.

Two men boarded the ship, one a pale-skinned human and the other a red-skinned alien she didn’t know the species of.

The human waved. “Hi, I’m Mayfeld. The big guy’s Burg.” Burg grunted.

Omera nodded back at them, arms crossed. “Mer.” She wanted this job to be over with already.

Both the droid and the Mandalorian returned, and it was suddenly a bit claustrophobic in the small area. The two of them both went to the cockpit and they were soon underway.

Not too long into the journey, Burg began pacing and growling. Omera moved in between him and the closed door of the berth, just in case. He punched the ceiling and she winced, but it didn’t leave any dents, thank goodness.

Xi’an snapped at him, to which he just growled again.

Normally when things around her were this tense, she’d try to diffuse the situation with some soft words. Maybe ask about interests or planets they’d visited. Easy conversation, mostly pointless, but calming.

Something told her that wouldn’t work too well with this group.

Still, she was considering striking up a conversation with Mayfeld, who seemed polite enough when he’d introduced himself, when Burg started pressing buttons and activated the small armory.

Startled, Omera quickly left her post by the berth to close the doors that had swung open. “Those are private.”

Burg growled and looked about ready to punch her.

“Hey, hey, we all have stuff we don’t want people getting into,” Mayfeld said. He had risen to his feet and held out his hands in a placating gesture. “We’re good, right, Burg? Mer?” Omera wanted to raise an eyebrow. Was he suggesting she was somehow at fault here? She kept her face neutral, though, and nodded once. Burg just growled again, but paced off to the other end of the ship.

It was then that the Mandalorian hopped down from the upper level. Omera hoped that now, maybe, tensions would ease.

Oh, she hoped in vain.

What followed could only be described as taunting, possibly discrimination, and definitely out of line.

Omera wanted to scream at them, kick them off their ship, and fly far, far away. But the Mandalorian did nothing. Was this what his life had been like with this crew? Offensive innuendos from “ladies” and whoever else, outright hostility and mockery of his way of life? How could he bear it in silence?

When Burg looked like he was about to grab the Mandalorian’s helmet and rip it off, Omera did something very foolish. She stepped in between them and put her hand on her pistol. Summoning every bit of righteous bravery (and possibly stupidity) she could find, she said, “I think it’s time for you to take a seat, Burg. I think I hear the ship getting ready to exit hyperspace.”

If she had thought Burg looked angry before, he looked furious now.

“Hey, it’s just a bit of fun,” Mayfeld said with a sneer as Xi’an cackled. “Just a joke. Nothing Mando can’t handle, right? Maybe not, though, if you need some woman to fight your battles for you.” Omera couldn’t believe she’d ever thought he was polite.

“All the same,” she replied, willing herself not to tremble as Burg growled lowly, “it’s time to sit down.”

The ship did exit hyperspace then, immediately beginning to spin and jerk around. As she fell to the ground, she heard her daughter shriek before stifling it. Her blood ran cold. These...these _monsters_ could _not_ find her children. She’d fight them all off first, bare-handed if she had to.

The noise seemed to have been lost in the chaos, though, and while Mayfeld gave the closed berth door an odd look, he turned to the business of getting into whatever ship they’d docked on to.

She felt a hand rest on her back as the Mandalorian stood from where he’d fallen next to her and she relaxed the smallest bit. She wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t leaving the kids. They just had to finish the job and they’d have the ship back to themselves.

The crew were soon dropping out of sight, and when Zero stayed up in the cockpit, Omera risked knocking on the berth door. “Are you alright in there?” she whispered.

There was a bit of shuffling, then a tense, “Yeah, we’re okay.”

Omera sighed. “We’ll be okay, sweetheart. We just have to wait now, okay?”

A pause, then, “How long?”

“I don’t know. Maybe an hour or so. Why don’t you keep listening to your books, alright?”

There was a sniff. “Mom, I...I want to go home.”

Oh. Omera leaned her forehead against the door. “I know, sweetie. We...we’ll talk later, okay? Now’s not a good time. There’s still someone in the cockpit.”

There was no response, and Omera closed her eyes. Home? Where was home? They’d left the village behind. Omera’s family was all dead. Home...this ship was their home. They’d let those _people_ into their _home_ , and Omera would count it a blessing if she never saw their faces ever again.

Unwilling to leave the children alone, even to check on what Zero was doing, she paced around. Was it worth getting out the new belt she was working on, just for something to do? Ran had said the job would take an hour or two, but she wasn’t sure if that meant the job itself or with travel time included. She needed the distraction, though. Her hands were shaking, and she didn’t know if it was from fear or anger or both.

As she brought out her next project, her mind wandered. The others might come back in bad shape, for whatever reason, and she resolved to have at least the very basics of first aid available. Just if they were in danger of bleeding out, though. She put down her work and started to sort through their things. It didn’t take long to gather some supplies, and then she was back to the belt.

Zero came down the ladder after a while. He looked slowly around the small space before saying, “I’ve lost contact with the team. Standard procedure is to wait at least an hour before leaving unless the situation is too dangerous.”

Her breath caught as she stared at the droid. Leave? _Leave?_

“If they have not returned in that time frame, or if we are in danger, I will come down assist with detaching from the ship.” He then turned and went up the ladder.

No. No, Omera would _not_ let that happen. She’d shoot the droid, climb down to the other ship, and scour the place herself before she left the Mandalorian behind.

The shaking in her hands was even worse now, and she put the project aside and tried to breathe deeply and calmly.

Later, much later, although that might have just been her perception of time, the Mandalorian called up to her from below the docking port. Something in her chest eased and she stood with a sigh of relief.

Omera helped the Mandalorian get a new Twi’lek man up the ladder and safely secured him. The Mandalorian went up to the cockpit, and after a few minutes, they were off again.

She wondered what terrible thing had happened that most of the crew hadn’t made it out of this so-called “easy job.” It wasn’t hard not to dwell on it, though, and she instead kept an eye on their captive. He, thankfully, was not talkative.

They were soon back to the station, and Omera watched Zero escort the imprisoned man down to where Ran was waiting. To her surprise, the two men hugged. So...not a prisoner? Bounty hunting was even more baffling than she’d thought.

“No questions asked, right?” the Mandalorian said in response to Ran’s query about the rest of the crew. The man shrugged and tossed them a pouch of credits. The Mandalorian didn’t even count the credits, but rather hurried to pull up the ramp and close the exit.

“Get ready to jump as soon as we clear the station,” he said, tossing the bag of credits to the side before hurrying up to the cockpit. Startled, stood staring for a moment after him. Surely they weren’t in too much danger now that the job was over?

Regardless, the kids were safe to come out now, and she opened the berth door to see a silently crying Winta cuddling a sleeping little boy. With a heavy heart, she helped them out, then wrapped them in a blanket and had them sit with her on the bedrolla spread on the floor. Winta kept crying, soundless, and Omera hated this even more than she’d hated having that… _crew_ on the ship.

The Mandalorian rejoined them after she felt the ship jolt into hyperspace, lowering himself to the floor with an almost inaudible grunt of pain. He just looked at the children for a moment before looking down at his hands

“Yeah,” he said, sounding weary in a way she hadn’t heard from him before, “that was a bad idea.”


End file.
